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collective coma

plodding sky swallows a squirrel 
clinging to a gnarly tree

blemished pens bemoan 
wily wordplay 

out of nowhere 
i am sadly too late

they have built the battlefield
in a collective coma

i build sorrow
my words disappear

one gloats madly
as i go savagely into twilight

flaming snakes
bite the Hanged Man

the Wheel of Fortune
spins into the Sun

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things